Monday, 15 May 2017

Ambassadors Do It After Dinner

AMBASSADORS DO IT AFTER DINNER

Now as all we
Diplomatic Bags know to our constant frustration, the term Ambassadress
shouldn't exist. And even when one uses the cumbersomely correct terminology–
Wife of Ambassador – it still doesn’t carry much weight. Partner? You have to
be joking. Equality doesn’t come into the equation here. We are at best an
appendage and at worst a liability. A ticking bomb to be kept on as short a
rein as humanely possible, if I may be forgiven a mixed metaphor or two.

We take a four hour train journey into the middle of
nowhere for His Excellency to deliver a speech about European Matters. As the train pulls out, I asked him precisely which
aspect of E.M. he would be addressing for the improvement of his public’s
edification, insight and comprehension. The reply was non-committal, but I was
made to understand that he would be giving the matter his most profound
consideration throughout the trip. I therefore stopped talking and confined
myself to listening to our fellow travellers ringing every one of their respective
friends and relatives to reassure them that they were, indeed, on the train.

H.E. fell asleep.

After a couple of hours, worried about the possibility
of a hired restaurant full of diners living out the rest of their lives in
European Ignorance, I gave him a gentle nudge. He half opened one eye, swore
gently in two languages and assured me that he could wing it. I went back to
glaring at my fellow passengers in three languages as they continued to regale
the carriage with their tales of woe or joy or just their latest recipes for
quick and inexpensive suppers.

Upon arrival, we were met at the station by the
President of the Society in Question, a perfectly charming gentleman in his
mid-eighties. A former Ambassador. We recognised him immediately because, as
promised, he was wearing an electric blue E.U. baseball cap. The summer
version, with the see-through fish-net crown. The rain was coming down in
sheets.At some stage in his diplomatic
career, however, he must have been posted to Moscow, for as soon as we had
identified each other, he quite understandably exchanged this for a Siberian
wolf Davy Crocket number though without, fortunately, the tail. Beagle would
have gone wild with delight and shaken it to death right there on the platform.
Fortunately Beagles are not an option when Ambos are addressing the
after-dinner crowd on Matters of International Importance. The rain turned to
hailstones.

Indifferent to the fact that all the Society members
were already seated in the restaurant awaiting the arrival of their after
dinner speaker whilst drinking themselves to a stupor trying to keep warm, we
requested a five minute stop at our hotel to leave the luggage and freshen up.

For “freshen up” read:“jot down speaking points.”

Whilst we were thus employed, our octogenarian Davy
Crocket decided to turn the car around in the limited space of the hotel
forecourt whilst waiting for us to re-emerge, painted and coiffed and, more
especially, bearing indecipherable squiggles on the back of an old envelope.
When we did just that, 6.5 minutes later, we found him standing out in the
sleet looking shamefaced.It had taken
him a mere 3 minutes to rip the back bumper off the car whilst backing into an
attractive hydrangea bush and a not so attractive immovable concrete pillar and
a record 3.5 minutes to stuff the entire offending article into the boot. We
were politely requested to pretend we had seen nothing unusual.

A very jolly crowd was awaiting our arrival inside the
restaurant. Most mellow. We were slotted into our respective places at table
and plied with vast quantities of alcohol: it seemed we had a lot of catching
up to do. Food duly arrived and was duly despatched at everyone’s leisure. A
musical interlude followed after which various worthies were inspired to hit their
wine glasses with a fork until an unruly silence was achieved. The Chairman
staggered to his feet to introduce Mr. Ambassador who was to address us upon
Matters of Universal Interest and Importance. Except that the Ambassador in question was nowhere to
be seen, since the upper half of his torso had disappeared under the table
whilst he searched in vain for a) his table napkin and b) his speaking notes,
both of which had by then been reduced to a pulp by his neighbours’ wet shoes.

Some Speakers’ wives manage to buy themselves whole
apartment blocks, of course, on the proceeds of their husband’s lecture tours.
I don’t know where I go wrong, really. Even the hotel freebies were rubbish. I
went around smelling like a tart’s parlour after using the shower gel that
night and H.E.’s hair was standing on end for two days after he had
ill-advisedly washed it with their organic shampoo. Or perhaps that was just
the result of having to answer half an hour of decidedly incoherent questions
at the end of a decidedly awful meal.

One certainly sings for one’s supper whilst eating for
one’s country.

.....and if you like this, try the book from Amazon:"Sorting the Priorities - Ambassadress and Beagle Survive Diplomacy"